The maple tree that has turned brilliant yellow in my yard is named “Montgolfier.” In the full of its summer glory, its canopy resembles the enormous hot air balloon first flown by the Montgolfier brothers in 1783.
In the wee hours, the moon floats directly over the crown of the tree, an autumnal Christmas star, wearing a rainbow 
halo of ice crystals. Although waning, the moon sheds bright light. Somewhere in the dark, I hear the neighbor’s belled cat, probably enjoying the retained heat of the next-door driveway.
Only about a quarter of Montgolfier’s leaves remain on the lower part of the tree. I collect and bag the leaves to spread as mulch on a local community garden. But now, long before dawn, the slightest breeze moves the tree as if animated. The leaves fall as magical confetti in the moonlight.
Stepping to the tree and looking up, the thick limbs above grow up and away from branches at the base that still hold leaves. It is an ancient view, giving way to the stars and an attentive moon. And I am here to see it.
In a few minutes, the show is over as clouds cover the moon. And still the leaves fall in the darkness.
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